In Pursuit (of Shadows)
by SkankQuinn-and-Klaine
Summary: In Lima, Ohio, there was rarely trouble. Criminals were nothing more than the occasional convenience-store thief or a NASCAR-driver wannabe, which made Kurt's job a lot easier, however his job as a bounty hunter gets a little more interesting when he gets handed a homicide case. It isn't easy finding the pair of felons, Rachel and Blaine Anderson, but he won't rest until he does.
1. Pre-reading Notice

Hello Glee fandom, just a quick note before you get started :)

A quick disclaimer which applies to each chapter: **I am in no way affiliated with Glee or Fox or its crew,** and none of the characters belong to me.

This story was inspired by one of my favourite book series', "One For The Money" and the rest of the Stephanie Plum novels, I highly recommend them for anyone who loves to laugh- they're hilarious!

Within it you'll find one of my favorite glee trios- Anderberry ft. Kurt! It's very very AU but some of the facts are still the same, as you'll notice. Also do not hate me because the characters are murderers, I know neither canon Blaine or Rachel would do something nearly as horrible as that but it's just a story and it'll be all explained by the end.

Without further ado, I present:

 **In Pursuit (Of Shadows)**


	2. The Beginning

**In Lima, Ohio, there was rarely trouble.** Criminals were nothing more than the occasional convenience-store thief or a NASCAR-driver wannabe, which made Kurt Hummel's job a _lot_ easier.

Kurt worked for Hummel's Bail Bonding Agency, which was owned by his dad. His job as a fugitive apprehension agent—let's face it, as a _bounty hunter_ —was to find and collect these kinds of crooks who missed their court dates and turn them in to the authorities, and in turn he'd get 10% of the bond money. He'd turned twenty only recently, marking two years of being in the family business. Sure, he knew how to point a gun and use handcuffs, but in his time working for his dad he'd never had to make use of either. The cases he'd always been handed were minor, much to his relief.

It started out as a regular Friday for Kurt, when he walked into the office and asked Carole, his stepmom and secretary of the agency, if there were any cases for him to take. He sipped his non-fat mocha patiently as she flipped through her files.

"I don't have much today, unless…" she trailed off, looking uncertain.

"Unless?" Kurt prompted.

"Well, there is one case. I don't know if you're ready for it though, sweetie."

Kurt's eyes met the ceiling. "Carole, you and I both know I am more than capable of handling myself. Just tell me what it is."

She pursed her lips as she pondered over whether or not to give it to him. Then, she pushed the file folder over the top of her desk hesitantly.

"We've got twins. Names are Rachel and Blaine Anderson." She spoke slowly and professionally. "Both nineteen. Arrested for homicide—" Pause. "—and assaulting multiple police officers. Skipped out on their court date two weeks ago, never came back."

Kurt gulped helplessly as he let the charge sink in. _Homicide. We're talking murder, here._ If he were smart, he might have pushed the folder back at Carole and said _on second thought, maybe I'll take the day off!_ But of course, he knew he had to do this. The only other apprehension agent in the facility was Finn, and he was currently hunting down an active cocaine dealer in Lima Heights.

He picked up the folder hesitantly and looked inside. There were two stapled packets inside the file, one with a mugshot-like photo of a young-looking girl with dark brown hair, so dark it was almost black but lighter on the ends. She had a menacing look to her, with her lip piercings and ginormous rose tattoo that covered her entire neck. She definitely looked the part for a murderer, Kurt thought.

He flipped that packet to the side, revealing the second file. The photo, of the same mugshot-like quality, was of a young man, no more than a boy really, with the same lip piercing as his sister. He had black curly hair, with the front end of it just noticeably purple. His eyes were surrounded in eyeliner, but didn't have the same menacing stare as Rachel. Instead, Kurt noticed, they looked steely, like a metal wall was between him and the outside world, securing in secrets. Sure his sister gave him the _serious_ chills, something about Blaine made Kurt anxious in a different way. Almost as if he wanted to get _close_ to him.

"Bond is out for ten-thousand each, so if you bring them both in you'll receive two-thousand dollars." Carole explained as if he didn't already know how the process worked. "Are you sure you can handle this?"

She gently laid a hand on top of Kurt's, which he only just noticed was shaking. He took a deep breath and, without making eye-contact with her, nodded.

"Yeah," he breathed. "I can handle it."

* * *

He went through the files, looking for contacts and information as to where the siblings could be hiding. The easiest step to take—although the least likely to find them—would be to call their parents. There was only one name on the forms. _Pamela Anderson_.

 _You're kidding me,_ Kurt thought.

He went to the address written, and knocked on the door. It was a small trailer house, in a rustic neighborhood on the outskirts of Lima. He thought he saw the curtains pull back from the window a little and the upper half of a woman's face flitted in and out before walking to the door and unlocking it.

"Can I help you?" she asked tiredly, looking him over. He could understand her confusion, someone as well dressed as Kurt was right now didn't belong in this part of town.

"Uh, yes I'm looking for Rachel and Blaine Anderson?"

She speculated him more from narrowed eyes. "What would _you_ want with _them_?"

"I'm—" he cleared his throat. "I'm Kurt Hummel, from Hummel's Bail Bonding Agency, and Mr. and Miss Anderson haven't appeared for their court date."

"Yeah, and…?" Kurt couldn't help but shrink away from the judgemental tone of her voice.

"I was hoping you might have some information on their whereabouts…"

She glared, not saying a word and leaving an uncomfortable silence until she sighed a second later. "I don't know where they are. They haven't been here in about three months."

"They never left you an address or a contact number?"

"They didn't leave me so much as a clue. This is what happens to a single mother who tries so hard to raise her kids right on minimum–wage salary, they get all screwed up and then they leave you in the dust—" she rambled on.

"—Uh, ma'am—"

"—And I try so hard to put food on the table and they just keep gettin' into trouble by hittin' cops—"

"— _Mrs. Anderson_." He interrupted a little louder. She snapped out of her rant and he saw tears in her previously-deadpan eyes. "Oh I'm sorry, no I didn't mean to… um, can I come in?"

She sniffed. "Sure, why not." Her voice was thick with melancholy now.

She turned back into the home and Kurt followed her in. It was very small for a three person house, two small bedrooms that looked more like closets were at the end of the main room, no doors closing them off. There was a small kitchenette and some foldout chairs acting as a sitting room in the middle, with a small TV plugged in and sitting on the floor in front of them.

"Can I get you something to drink?"

Kurt side-eyed the kitchen sink which was spotted with rust. "No, no thank you."

She pulled a beer out of the small fridge and popped the lid open with her teeth. "My kids weren't always this way." She sighed. "When Roy and I were still married, we had a good life. He made enough money that we lived comfortably—luxuriously, even—without me having to lift a finger. Rachel was a little diva who loved to put on costumes and sing concerts for me in our living room. Blaine was more reserved, wiser. An old-soul, if you will. But he was a performer too."

Kurt smiled, watching her as she revelled in her memory.

"But then things started getting rocky with Roy and me. I didn't like that he was working all the time, and he was always leaving me the responsibility of the kids. It was like they weren't even his." She sighed. "He'd been cheating on me for four years with some busty woman at a bar downtown. _Four years,_ around the time the kids were born. He finally revealed to me he wanted a divorce. There was no discussion of custody—he didn't want them. We moved to Lima and I had to beg for financial support until I could find a job and save up some money. This has been our home since the kids started school, it's all they've ever known.

"I remember the first time I was called to the school when Rachel had been caught smoking pot behind the building. She was only eleven at the time. I've heard so many stories about kids with broken families, turning to drugs and alcohol. I didn't want this for her, or her brother. I warned her about the effects of drugs, and Blaine too. Of course, being the drama queen she is, she rebelled against me and started getting more involved. She was hanging out with high school kids who were selling her things like crack and even meth. I opened my savings jar sometimes only to find it completely empty.

"And then he started getting into it too. She roped him into their scene, even though I thought he was smarter than that. He was battling inner demons at the time, and by the time they were fifteen they were asking me for piercings and tattoos. I let them, hoping they would respect me more." She chuckled. "I was so stupid."

Kurt was totally captivated by their story now. "Why did they disappear?" he wondered aloud.

"Probably because they didn't wanna get caught. I went to bed one night, scared as always that they wouldn't come home. They spent a lot of their nights away from home and frankly I didn't want to know where or what they were doing. The next morning, my worst nightmare came true. They hadn't returned from wherever they were, and I didn't find a note or a footprint or anything. Days went by, and then weeks, and here we are. They've committed horrible crimes that I've only heard about from the news. I'm not sure if they'll ever come back, but my money's on not." She chugged from her bottle for a long second before resting it back between her knees.

"I'm…" Kurt was astonished. "I'm really sorry." Was all he could say. Pam laughed ironically.

"It's not your fault." Another gulp of alcohol. "I feel sorrier for you."

"Why?" _Why could she possibly be sorry for him?_

"Because you have to catch 'em."

* * *

Kurt returned home that night tired, physically and emotionally. He'd spent a few hours at the Andersons' house, collecting as much information on the twins as possible. Pam supplied him with a few names of people who were closest to them, including several men that Rachel had been frequenting. It turned out Blaine had a long-term girlfriend for four years. They didn't have any friends of sorts, none that she knew the names of anyways. Unfortunately she knew very little about them, which was sad to Kurt. He couldn't imagine leaving Carole so devastated, let alone his own mother who died a long time ago.

He sat down at his desk with a pad of paper, a pen, the documents, and an apple. Long hours were spent against his will sorting out and comparing details, putting together as much information as possible to spark ideas: as of now, he didn't know where to start looking.

A knock at his door broke him out of his reverie, and he noticed that the daylight had turned into blackness outside his window.

"Can I come in?"

It was Finn, Carole's son and his step-brother. He was changed into sweats and an old McKinley High Titans shirt, which still surprisingly fit him after two years—he grew like a weed.

"Yeah, sure." Kurt rubbed his eyes, feeling fatigue crash down on him.

"I heard about your case." He said towards the floor.

"Yeah."

Finn's eyes looked back up. "It's pretty dangerous."

"I'm starting to think it's more dangerous than anyone thinks." Kurt groaned, running his hands through his hair, mussing it up.

"I just want you to know I can help, if you need to. I just finished my case in Lima Heights, the dealer was caught and finally got to court." He explained. "I won't even ask for a part of the bond money."

"That's really nice Finn. I'll think about it."

Finn nodded and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Can I see the case?"

"Sure." He handed the documents over to Finn. Finn inspected the first stapled package, reading over the details briefly, and then moved on to the second.

"Holy—I don't believe it." He hissed.

Kurt's eyes widened in alarm. "What? What's wrong?"

"N-nothing, it's just…" he flipped it over and then back to the front again, staring at the picture. He lifted his eyes directly meeting Kurt's and set his jaw. "If I tell you something, you have to _swear_ you won't tell anyone. Especially not my mom."

"Of course, what's going on?"

Finn sighed. "This… I slept with this girl once."

Kurt drew in a sharp breath. "You _what?"_

"Let me explain. I was out with Puck one night and he wanted to go to the bar so I thought why not, right? He had these fake ID's and the guy at the door let us in, but after we were inside I was so uncomfortable. There were a lot of cougars there which of course made him feel right at home, but I was super weird about it, some of those women could have been my mom's age. I had a few drinks and then this girl who looked about sixteen walked in, hair all wavy and dark makeup and barely dressed in leather. I forced myself to look away because I was _sure_ she was a minor but she came right up to me and started chatting me up and straight up _seducing_ me, and when I asked her what her age was she said eighteen, but if anyone asked she was twenty-two.

"It was good enough for me, I was a little drunk and she was the only girl there under thirty so we danced a little and she invited me to a motel room and…" Finn went red and looked away. "I should probably stop there."

"Please." Kurt begged.

"I just… I can't believe it's her, I can't believe she's a _murderer_. I just—I feel so _unclean_ now."

"Finn," Kurt sighed. "As disturbing as that story was, you don't have to feel so bad. You didn't know what she was doing or who she was, and this happened before the homicide. You can relax a little."

Relieved, Finn slumped down on the end of Kurt's bed.

"I… I don't know if I can help anymore. This is going to haunt me, bro."

Kurt nodded. "That's fine, I'm capable of doing it alone." _I hope._ "Just, can I go to sleep now? It's been a _very_ long day."

"Yeah of course. Do you, uh, want a glass of warm milk or anything?"

He rolled his eyes. "Leave the warm milk to me, okay?"

Finn chuckled as he left the room, pulling the door closed behind him.

"'Night."

"Goodnight Finn."


	3. The Girlfriend

**The next day was… easier.** Kurt at least woke up knowing what he'd be getting himself into, and he had information on the fugitives. Yes, he was awake and ready to tackle the day.

After three cups of coffee, that is.

He went over a mental list of all the things he was going to do today to get a lead on the case; the quicker he could find them and turn them in, the better. First he was going to the high school they both used to attend. Funny, they went to McKinley High too, just like Kurt had. He guessed constantly getting tossed into dumpsters kept him too preoccupied to notice the other students. He'd interrogate a few teachers and students that would've been there at the same time as the twins. Then he'd visit Blaine's girlfriend's house and ask her some questions, surely she had to know something. After all, a relationship partner isn't someone you usually keep things from. Lastly, he'd visit the bars around town and pose some questions there.

The drive to William McKinley High School was less than pleasant, as expected. Kurt couldn't help but squirm as the memories from his high-school years that he'd tried to erase crept up to the front of his mind: the putrid stench of garbage that poked his back and his legs as he got thrown into a dumpster, the piercing sting of a freezing slushie getting tossed into his face, the ear-splitting _slam_ of being shoved into a locker over and over and _over._

He shook his head to clear it, and focused on the case. He didn't make the trip to relive those memories. He did it to for the better of society, to catch the only murderers Lima's ever known.

The parking lot was relatively empty for a school day, he thought as he pulled into an open spot near the door. His hand ran over his tie to smooth it and his messenger bag swung idly on his hip. No one should notice him, he could almost pass as a teacher.

The door to the principal's office was wide open and Kurt saw Principal Figgins sitting in his chair reading the newspaper. He knocked on the doorframe, and his old principal looked up and smiled at him warmly.

"Ah, Kurt Hummel," he mused in his thick accent. "McKinley's best dressed student of all time. What a surprise!"

"Nice to see you, Principal Figgins." He tried to keep his smile friendly, but even just being in the school made his grin falter.

"What can I do for you?" the principal asked, folding his hands on his desk.

"I'm actually here to ask about a couple of previous students. Fugitives, now, actually." At the other man's bewildered stare, Kurt cleared his throat. "I'm a fugitive apprehension agent now, I track down criminals who haven't appeared for their court trials and I take them in to court. I was wondering if I could have access to their student records in order to track them down."

"I wish I could, Mr. Hummel, but student records are for authorized personnel only. Do you have a badge for your position?"

"Uh, actually I do. Hold on, I know it's in here somewhere…" he pawed through his messenger bag for his badge, becoming more frantic when he couldn't find it. _Documents, handcuffs, pepper spray… where's my dang badge?_

"Mr. Hummel I'm sorry, but I can't just hand out student records without some kind of authentification—"

"—Principal Figgins, I know it's here somewhere." Kurt's sighed in annoyance as he started losing his patience. Finally he gave up. "I must have left my badge at home."

"My hands are tied, Mr. Hummel!"

He sighed. So far he hadn't gotten anywhere, thankfully this was only the first stop.

"Thank you for your time, Principal Figgins." He huffed and slunk out of the office, running into coach Sylvester as he rounded the corner.

"Oh! Coach Sylvester, hi."

"Porcelain," she barely acknowledged him with a nod at first glance, but spun around on her heels when she passed him. "Didn't you graduate?"

She seemed confused and maybe even a little annoyed.

"Yeah, a couple years ago. I'm actually here for my job—"

"Oh no, please don't tell me you're here to teach the glee club, we already have one delusional homosexual doing that. Although you've got better hair. On second thought, ol' Butt Chin might need a replacement—"

Kurt interrupted her before she could get any more weird or offensive.

"Actually I'm here to ask about a few previous students, Rachel and Blaine Anderson." He figured she might now something about them. "I'm a fugitive apprehension agent and—"

"You mean a bounty hunter." It wasn't a question. Kurt frowned.

"I prefer the term fugitive apprehen—"

"You know, back in the late seventies I worked as a bounty hunter. One of the best in the USA."

He quirked an eyebrow and tried to continue his sentence. "I'm looking for information about the two."

"Don't know 'em." She shrugged and turned away, only to return again.

"Wait, are you talking about Barbara Streisand's sex-tape double and Angsty-Mac-Eyebrows?"

"Uh, I'm not really sure—"

"I always knew those two would get convicted. The girl used to mess with my Cheerios all the time, the poor girls were so dumb they couldn't tell their water bottles from pepper-shakers… I still don't know how she got away with that one."

"Would you happen to know the names of anyone they associated with?" There was no doubt that Sue Sylvester was crazy, but she may be a good source of information now.

"Sure, there was Emo Man-Whore, the Crackhead with the bad dye-job, pretty sure Sandy Ryerson was their drug dealer. Oh and Q for a while."

Kurt had no idea who she was so cruelly referring to, except for the last one.

"Q as in Quinn Fabray? Like, _head cheerleader_ Quinn Fabray?"

"She had so much potential but wasted her half of her senior year in high school smoking cheap cigarettes and dying her hair a nasty pink in order to mourn her life as McKinley's Top Bitch. Sad story when you think of it."

"Oh yeah, I kind of forgot about the whole Skank-phase." He chuckled as he thought about the girl in question, and how in senior year she went completely off her rocker. "Thanks, Ms. Sylvester."

"Yeah whatever. Now I have to leave before I suffocate from the fumes coming out of your hair. You've got enough hairspray holding it up to fill the hole where my feelings should be." She gave him a mock salute before leaving the way she had come originally. He'd kind of forgotten how mean she was, even though she was one of his bullies in high school. Of course, he never took it as hard as when it was one of the jocks or cheerleaders—she was mean to everyone.

He had time to stop by Miss Pillsbury's office, as well as ask a few students some questions. It's funny how most students had no idea who the Anderson twins were, and the rest were downright terrified at the sound of their name. Apparently they had a reputation.

He left McKinley feeling a step ahead of where he was the day before, having found out some new names of people associated with them—Quinn Fabray, he still couldn't believe it—and he had a list of what people described them as. The people who knew who they were described the two as polar opposites, yet creepily alike at the same time.

Just like Mrs. Anderson had said, Rachel had a fiery personality. She was usually found yelling threats at people, harmless freshmen, or flirting shamelessly with boys to get in their pants. She was mostly known as a whore, but no one dared to call that to her face in fear she'd pull out a switchblade on them—which she'd actually done once.

People described Blaine as Rachel's shadow, lurking around wherever she was but not really interfering with things. He skipped classes a lot, probably to get high or hook up with his girlfriend. In his four years at McKinley, no one had ever heard him say more than two words at a time.

All this information gave Kurt an insight into the case: Rachel was most likely the ringleader, doing all the planning and the executing, and Blaine was her pawn, the lab-specimen of the pair.

He double checked the address written on a ripped piece of lined paper in his pocket, the place he intended on visiting next. The house where Blaine's girlfriend lived was in the middle of town, surprisingly the opposite of the Andersons' neighborhood. A row of duplexes, each the same pale brown, lined the street as he pulled up to the curb. Yep, this was the right place.

He walked up the narrow drive, noticing the half-dead plants lining the front of the house; it clearly wasn't as well-kept as those around it. As he approached the door, he raised his hand to knock but a dog started barking inside the house, scaring the wits out of him. Needless to say, Kurt was more of a cat-person. The knob turned from inside after a minute and a tall, balding man answered the door, holding back the dog—a pitbull, to Kurt's knowledge, which was still barking threateningly.

"Can I help you?" the man asked gruffly. He had the kind of tough-dad personality that was probably supposed to scare off young men, but A, Kurt was very gay, and B, he was very used to the type—this man could have been a clone of his own dad.

"Yes, I'm looking for Adelaide?" he explained in a professional voice.

The man speculated him for a second, and then called up the stairs behind him.

"Adelaide! There's a man down here at the door for you!" the man turned back towards Kurt and leaned forwards. "Between you and me, she could use a new man. The one she got now's a real punk."

Kurt's eyes went wide. "Oh no sir, I think you misunderstood me—"

" _Coming!_ " a high, squeaky voice rang out from inside. Bouncing footsteps thudded closer and Kurt suddenly panicked he had the wrong house. This Adelaide was clearly a child.

…Except she wasn't. A teenage girl hopped down the stairs, short and thin. Her bleach-blond hair was frizzy from a bad dye job, and was pulled back into a bun with lots of loose pieces falling down around her face and neck. She was little, but she was obviously at least sixteen. She wasn't exactly what Kurt would classify as pretty, but he knew better than to judge a book by its cover (Outfits, however, were a whole different story).

She smiled sickeningly sweet at Kurt while addressing the man. "Who's this, Daddy?"

"Kurt Hummel," Kurt interjected, sticking out his hand for the girl to shake. "I was wondering if I could ask you some questions about Blaine Anderson."

She raised two thin, dark eyebrows (which only gave away her dyed hair more—focus, Kurt, focus) and her upper lip curled.

"You're not a cop, are you? I don't know anything, I swear."

"I promise I'm not a cop. I'm actually someone who can help him." He reassured her with a smile. She clearly wasn't buying it, so he stretched the truth out a little more. "I'm friends with Pam."

"Why didn't you say so?" she suddenly brightened up like someone meeting a best friend they hadn't seen in years. "Come on inside, ignore the dog."

Kurt gulped as the dog growled at him, now being dragged away by the man. He hesitantly stepped inside, noticing the faint smell of cigarette smoke clouding the air.

"Daddy, we'll be upstairs if you need us." She said to her dad in that high voice of hers, which reminded Kurt slightly of Alvin and the Chipmunks. Her dad only grumbled in response and shushed the dog—that thing was really starting to scare Kurt.

He followed the girl into a small room with a sloped ceiling, walls painted pink and covered with posters of punk-rock bands he'd never heard of. She sat on her bed and patted the space next to her, which he had no choice but to oblige.

"So, how long have you guys been dating?" Kurt decided to open the conversation with a light question. Apparently it was a good start, because she sighed dreamily and answered.

"Almost four years—I know, a long time for high school couples." She giggled. "We aren't like most couples though, he understands me so well. He's not like other boys, you know. Most boys talk too much about football and boobs, but Blaine never does. He's so sensitive and he lets me talk as much as I want without ever talking about himself."

"So you guys are close?" he subtly reached down to his hip and switched on the voice-recorder he was carrying on him.

"It depends on what you mean. It's not like we're best friends or anything. He prefers not to talk about his personal life which is fine for me. And we make out a lot, but he doesn't like sex either. I think it's because he's already so vulnerable. He didn't want to say I love you, he's really broken inside, you know?"

Kurt's heart broke a little for Blaine, and for Adelaide too. It must be hard to maintain a trusting relationship with a past like his. He offered a pitying smile.

"It has to be hard not seeing him around anymore."

"I _know,_ " she sighed. "It's like I've lost a piece of me. I don't even know where he went, but I know he'll come back for me when it's safe.

"I'm assuming you're aware of the crimes he's been accused of."

"Of course, but that doesn't mean I believe he actually did them. I bet it was all Rachel's fault, I never liked her anyways. He's always following her around like a puppy. I'm not jealous, because like, she's his sister, but still."

Kurt grimaced. "Adelaide, you know they were both found guilty. It was proven."

"Blaine wouldn't do something like that, okay? I know him."

 _Didn't she say something about not knowing his personal life?_ Time for a change of subject.

"Do you have any idea where they could be? I can help them if they come back to Lima."

"How?" her eyes were becoming glassy now, and her stare was inquisitive.

"Let's just put it this way, I'm ready to do whatever it takes to do the right thing. I know what it's like to be misunderstood, to be an underdog. And I'm sure you do too." It wasn't a lie, he was going to do the right thing. The right thing just was unfortunately not what she wanted.

She was crying. "Like I said, I haven't heard from him since they went missing. And he—" she hiccupped, and stared at him uncertainly, as if holding back something.

"Adelaide, you can trust me."

"He didn't even call me. He never said goodbye or anything, just disappeared and Pam called me a week later asking if I knew where he and Rachel were. I—" a sob escaped, choking her for a second. "—The last time I was with him I was pressuring him to… you know, and he just got angry and stormed out. I-I know it was my fault and now he's gone."

His heart was now in several pieces as she broke down on the bed, soaking the sheets with her fallen tears. All he could offer was a hand rubbing the small of her back.

"From what I know, it seems they left without leaving anyone a clue to where they went. I'm really sorry for you Adelaide."

"I don't know what we are anymore, I just hope he comes back." She sobbed again, burying her face in his shoulder. He tried to soothe her to the best of his abilities (while simultaneously hoping the eyeliner stains would wash out of his shirt). It was too much, in his two years of the job, he'd never had to experience so much grief and pain as from this one case. Every time he thought he was a step ahead, he'd run into an obstacle that would put him behind again.

He stayed with her for a while, letting her cry it out on his shoulder, a perfect stranger that she unloaded her troubles on. He wondered how anyone could do this to a person, just leave a gap in their life after occupying that space for a long time. One thing he knew for sure, he would find the Anderson twins, and he would restore justice.


	4. The Bar Fight

**It was dusk by the time Kurt left Adelaide's house,** promising her that he'd find Blaine and that he'd make sure he was safe. She was so hopeful, it was heartbreaking. The poor girl was so trusting that he knew it had gotten her into trouble before, and it probably would continue to do so. He was slightly behind his schedule for the day and realized it was going to be yet another _very_ late night, so he pressed the gas pedal a little harder on his way downtown towards the first bar on his list.

It was a two story establishment with faded brick enveloping the windows, most of which were covered by blinds on the inside. A hanging sign over the door indicated the name of the place; _Big Lanny's_. Promising. He parked his car along the curb in front of the bar, making sure to double check his doors were locked, something about the atmosphere of this place made him feel a little unsafe. He carefully entered the building, showing the bouncer his ID before stepping into the darkly lit room filled with girls in skimpy dresses and men in suits gazing at them in hungry, inappropriate ways. The music—which Kurt wasn't sure had a melody, just a rhythm—was blaring so loud that he could feel the _thrum_ in his bones. He looked around as he weaved through the swarm, avoiding the grinding pairs as he made his way to the bar.

"What can I get for you, pal?" a fat man who looked to be from somewhere in Central America (Puerto Rico, maybe) asked Kurt in a cheerful voice, as if they'd been friends a long time. Kurt assumed this was Big Lanny.

"I'm not here for a drink, thanks. I was wondering if you could identify the kids in these pictures, actually." He handed two photocopies of the twins' pictures over to the bartender, who snatched them and casually inspected them. He stuck his bottom lip out in indifference.

"They're not regulars, but I think I seen them around here somewhere." Big Lanny's accent softened the _r_ 's so that it sounded like _heah somewheah_. It was good news he recognized them.

"Can you tell me how long ago you saw them?"

"Just a couple weeks ago. You said they was kids?" he asked suspiciously.

Kurt nodded. "They're only nineteen and getting into a lot of bars using fake IDs."

"Aw man I'm telling you I'mma have to fire Randy. He's always letting anyone in here."

"Maybe just let Randy know that he's got a job to do, and that it can be dangerous not doing it properly." Kurt warned, almost cringing at how much he sounded like Carole scolding him and Finn.

"Ay, thanks man. You sure I can't get you a Margarita or somethin'?"

Kurt grimaced, not wanting to get too comfortable in here. "Thanks again, I'll pass. If you see these kids again call me as soon as you can." He slid his business card to Big Lanny over the bar counter.

"What you want with 'em, anyways? You a bounty hunter?" the man asked, eyebrows raised as he read the card. _Would people ever stop using that term?_

"Yes," he sighed, not wanting to get into a dispute about it. "They've been MIA for about a month since they were arrested for homicide."

Big Lanny whistled through his teeth. "That's rough. Good luck buddy, I'll give you a call if I see 'em."

"Thank you for your time, sir." Kurt smiled as he backed away from the bar.

"Don't bother with the whole _sir_ thing. You ever need a hand, give Big Lanny a shout and I'll be there." He pounded his closed fist on his chest twice before extending a pointed finger out at Kurt.

"Thanks, Big Lanny." He nodded a goodbye. That didn't take too long, and was only mildly painful.

He made his way through the sea of bodies once more towards the door, almost getting barreled over by a girl with a glass in her hand but making it out otherwise unscathed. He exchanged a look with Randy at the door, confusing the man. The next stop was not too far away, and only took a few minutes of _do you know these people? No? Thank you for your time_ before turning back out to the street again. That process repeated several times in multiple different bars, and at one point he was surprised by a random brunette that placed a sloppy kiss on his lips and then slipped a piece of paper in his pocket (he swore after this whole ordeal he would never enter another bar if he had any say about it).

It was close to midnight when he stopped at another bar on the outskirts of town. It was a small shack with corrugated-metal walls and a rusted roof, with windows blackened out with paint. A blue neon sign blinked sadly on top of the roof, and the door was wide open with a few people outside, one figure puking in the rugged bushes and several more smoking close by and good _grief_ he sometimes hated his job—

The security here was even worse than that of Big Lanny's, no one asked to see his ID once and Kurt wasn't convinced this place had a license to serve alcohol. There was a small dance floor that lit up multicolored underneath a layer of grime, as well as a bar crowded with people who looked nowhere near twenty-one and _very_ scary to the point of sending chills down his spine.

Considering the size of the crowd in the tiny building and the dim lighting coming only from the dance floor and the pot-lights over the bar, it was hard to see. He approached the least scary-looking person, a tall, pale boy with black hair that fell over his eyes and ears and wearing a grey hoodie.

"Excuse me," he caught the boy's attention, who looked up at him with beady eyes that lit up maliciously when he saw him.

"Well hello there, what's a man like you doing in a place like this?" he smirked, making Kurt regret his quick assumption immediately. The advances from this boy were very unexpected and just as unwanted as the ones coming from all the girls in the previous bars, as he couldn't have been more than seventeen.

"Uh, um, actually I should find someone else to talk to—" he muttered awkwardly, trying to distance himself from the kid but as he did he felt a hand grab his hip.

"Aw come on," the kid flicked his hair out of his eyes in a way that made him look like Justin Bieber, circa. 2010. He didn't know if the kid was trying to be flirty or what but it wasn't working, he was getting annoyed now.

"Look, kid. I'm much older than you and frankly, I'm not interested. So please remove your hand from my body and I'll be happy to leave peacefully." He snapped.

The kid recoiled immediately and his upper lip curled. "Geez, sorry _grandpa_. I can tell you're not a lady-lover just by your face so excuse me for giving you some options."

Kurt snapped. "Trust me, you'd be one of my last choices."

He turned on his heel and as he was about to give right up with this place and storm out of the shit-hole, he saw a familiar mass of wavy brown hair standing over near the far wall surrounded by several boys looking similarly _emo_ to the kid he'd just pushed away. He froze, mouth hanging open. After all he'd gone through in the past few days, he thought it would take _weeks_ of planning and interrogating and a whole lot of luckto track down the Anderson twins. They seemed like shadows that left black holes in all the people they encountered along their path to destruction, always leaving tracks but never actually being seen.

Yet, Kurt was one-hundred percent sure that standing only some-odd feet away from his very self was Rachel Anderson, the criminal, the shadow, the _murderer_. He reached down into his bag and pulled out his papers, just to be safe. Sure enough, this girl matched the photo to a T, all the way up to the smoky black eye-makeup surrounding her temptress eyes. He had to admit, she was actually very beautiful, if unconventionally so. It was a shame that she ended up the way she did, she could have gone far in the future with her looks. _She could pull off pigtails,_ he found himself thinking, _or knee-socks… maybe a plaid skirt—_

Why was he even thinking about her _wardrobe_ of all things, _get it together Kurt!_ He scanned the bar, trying to make out the features of her brother among the throng of teenagers, all while thinking _too easy, this is really too easy I have them right here…_ He was still searching when he felt a hand creep around his waist.

"Look baby I'm sorry, we got off on the wrong foot." That familiar voice belonging to that boy and why wouldn't he leave him _alone—_

"How many times do I have to tell you to not _touch me_?" Kurt growled which only encouraged the young boy much to his dismay.

"Listen, I love a challenge. I know good boys like you can be persuaded."

 _What was wrong with this kid?_ He tried to shove him away but the hand held him firmer and another one grabbed his ass and he swore he was _giving this case to Finn because he couldn't take anymore—_

"Let me _go!"_ he screamed angrily and he wasn't new to this kind of sexual harassment but it just took him right back to junior year and Dave Karofsky and he wasn't going back _there_ again. Voices were stirring around them as people were starting to look and Kurt wished they wouldn't because an audience would only encourage this kid _further_.

Another angry voice shouted from somewhere in the room and Kurt thought _shit I'm going to be killed here_. He squeezed his eyes shut and felt the strain of the kids muscles as he turned to see who yelled without letting go of his unconsented grasp on Kurt. The _crack_ of knuckles hitting flesh rang out and Kurt was about to let out a howl of pain when he realized that he wasn't the one who got hit, and the boy's arms dropped from him making him gasp in relief but as he opened his eyes he saw him swing back at the figure he assumed to have saved him. Another _smack_ sounded as the kid landed a punch on the other man's jaw and it was all happening too fast for Kurt to really understand what was happening. He stumbled backwards ready to make a run for it but he tripped over his own ankle and fell backwards, hissing as his elbows hit the floor.

A bottle shattered over someone's head, and Kurt recognized the boy who assaulted him as he went down to the floor, momentarily dazed and unable to get back up. His eyes shot back up to the person holding the neck of a broken beer bottle, all black curls and stubble and _feral_ eyes that gleamed with hate and Kurt _knew that face—_

" _BLAINE!"_ a high, feminine voice yelled over the now shouting crowd. Kurt's head whipped to the source of the voice where he saw Rachel Anderson gaping furiously and looking between her brother and the door. Wondering whether to save his ass or her own, he figured.

Blaine snapped out of his anger and for a moment Kurt recognized fear in his eyes, his eyes that burned a dark gold, so dark they were almost black. His eyes connected with Kurt's own for the slightest fraction of a second and Kurt saw _years_ of pain and fright through them; it felt like years before he looked away, and glancing once more at the crowd and the boy dizzily recovering from the floor, he ran straight for the open door and escaped the premises. Rachel was hot on his tail, dark hair a blur as she darted outside.

Kurt was breathing heavily, trying to grasp everything that had happened within the past sixty seconds. He sat there for seconds before realizing that he had found them. He had finally found the Anderson twins that he'd been through so much just to get to them and—

And they were getting away.

"Ah _shit."_ He muttered as he very ungracefully followed the two out the door, ignoring the people watching after them and especially the kid getting off the floor who probably now had a concussion (and Kurt tried very hard _not_ to think about how it served him right).

He got outside just in time to see them getting into a dark green industrial van, Blaine on the driver's side and Rachel as the passenger.

" _You jackass are you_ trying _to get us caught?"_ he heard her fuming from where he was at the door.

"Hey! Stop!" Kurt screamed, forcing his legs to run again.

She whipped around, glaring at him and scrambling into the van (but even scrambling she was smooth, like a cat almost) " _Oh for the love of—GO!"_ she screamed at her brother, slamming the door shut.

"Wait, _wait!"_ his voice was reaching that embarrassing octave above his already too-high voice that it did when he screeched. They drove off with a squeal and Kurt slowed down to a jog, and then a walk before stopping completely. There was no way he could catch them. Why didn't he get their license plate number? _Stupid, stupid, stupid._

He stumbled back over to his car, landing with a sad _fwump_ into the driver's seat and laying his head down on the steering wheel. What a crazy night, he couldn't believe all that had just happened to him. He picked his head back up and glanced once more at the shack, with its neon sign burning lower than it was when he arrived. Then he turned the key in the ignition, put it in drive, and went home.

* * *

 **A/N: Hi readers, things are picking up speed, I promise. It's a lot of interrogation and waiting for Kurt, which unfortunately is boring, but action is coming! I'm going to try to keep the Author's Notes to a minimum because I feel like they take away from the mood when reading but I just have one question to ask. Would you guys like to read a chapter from the twins' point of view? Or should I keep it strictly on Kurt? Please let me know ASAP as it'll influence my next chapter. Thanks to all those who read this, you guys rock!**


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